The Knights Seven
by StrengthAndHonour
Summary: Magic is confusing, and unpredictable. When Harry makes the mistake of charging after Sirius through the Veil, his friends follow him. But not to Death, oh no. To another world, another life, and another war.
1. The Prologue

Disclaimer: No owny, no makey money, no happy

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

Some journeys start at birth. Some, at a turning point in someone's life.

Many children grow up reading of knights in armour, of dragons soaring through the sky; of _magic_. They play in forts made of sofa cushions, blankets, and pure imagination. They hope, they wish upon shooting stars that their dreams may be real. Some, however, dream of happiness, family, and safety. In the case of Harry Potter, the latter was certainly true- and this, well… this just wouldn't do, would it?

Magic is a wonderful thing, and works in wonderful ways. Sometimes, it makes no sense, not even to those dedicated to its study. What they do not understand, is that magic has a will. And where there's a will, there's a _way_ …

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

Harry stood on the dais in the centre of the Death Chamber, staring at Sirius' face as he fell slowly through the Veil. The whispers at the edge of his hearing increased in volume, what he could barely make out to be chanting increased in tempo, the words burning with both fire and ice. Behind him, Bellatrix cackled insanely. Remus grabbed at him, before he even knew he'd taken a step. No! Why? Sirius was right there! He'd just fallen through! He was on the other side of the Veil, just around the corner!

The young mage yanked himself free of the werewolf's arms, sprinting for the centre of the Veil. Seven others saw him running, and heard the whispers in their ears.

" _Gentle Mother, font of mercy…"_

They each shouted to him, "Harry!" "No!" "Wait!" but he couldn't. The whispers had him now.

" _Save our sons from war, we pray…"_

Harry dived through the Veil, hand outstretched as if to catch the Snitch.

Ginny sprinted after him, breaking through Dolohov's grip.

Neville charged straight through, knocking his most-hated woman through with him.

" _Stay the swords and stay the arrows…"_

Luna smiled serenely as she danced through the Veil, sure in herself and the whispers.

Ron groaned as he followed his best friend, in life and in death.

Hermione sobbed as she saw her friends disappear one by one, running after Ron.

" _Let them know a better day…"_

Fred and George, well. ' _One small step for wizardkind/ One giant leap for pranking!'_

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

 **A/N:** Haven't posted anything worthwhile in, well, a while. The inspiration came at like half four in the morning and I had to get it down, or it would just go. I've always wanted to see HP in another universe, and this one most of all. If you can tell from what little hints I've left, then KUDOS TO YOU, MUTHATRUCKER


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No owny, no makey money, no happy

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

Dawn broke over Winterfell as the commonfolk began their daily tasks and the smell of baking permeated the lower reaches of the castle. Horses whickered in their warm stables, and dogs barked as they played in the wide castle grounds. Lord Eddard Stark, oft called Ned by his dearest friends and wife (and mayhaps his enemies) broke his slumber. Today was the day he executed the man of the Night's Watch that had run from the Wall- William. It was not often that Lord Stark was forced to mete out this sort of justice, for the North held a deep respect for their Lord, and crime was the furthest from most folk's minds.

Lord Stark dressed in silence, leaving his wife to sleep the sleep of the unburdened. He wrapped his long cloak lined with the finest wolf fur in the North, a gift from his vassal House Karstark, around his shoulders and reached for Ice. The greatsword passed from father to son since the founding of House Stark, and was created in the great foundries of Valyria before the Doom. Lord Stark froze in his picking up his greatsword, in utter bewilderment as the Valyrian steel began to glow as it had never before.

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

The militarist House of Tarly, of which the Lord of Horn Hill stood as Lord, was quiet on this dawn. Silence reigned in the great hall that sat at the castle's heart, until it was disturbed but briefly by the turning of a page of a great tome. Samwell Tarly, a round boy of seventeen- in another life he would be considered a man, but to his father's eyes, the eldest of Lord Randyll Tarly was but a boy. As the sun rose this dawn, Samwell's eyes were blinded in the dim hall by the suddenly incandescent greatsword Heartsbane upon the wall. The bow-shaped hilt and fletched pommel could barely be made out before the young lordling had to avert his eyes. Samwell knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that change was coming to Westeros, if such a thing was happening now.

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

In King's Landing, a dagger of exotic design and questionable history glowed in its wrappings of heavy leather and cloth. Not one person noticed it, as the dagger changed many hands in the time the sun took to rise. All across Westeros, in Essos, and even in the Summer Isles, bright points of light welcomed the new day, the new dawn for this world so different to our heroes' own. Many eyes grew in wonder at such a thing, some running to the godswood to pray, others to the sept. Others, those studying the techniques of reworking such legendary steel, the maesters of Oldtown and even the Warlocks of Qarth felt something unlike they ever had before. Change was coming. And with it, winter.

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

Albus Dumbledore sat back in his comfortable, overstuffed armchair in his office. His face was wracked with misery, and his shoulders burdened with sorrow and sobs. He blamed himself, if only he hadn't treated the boy as a liability, but as his friend, things would not have happened this way! To lose such noble and innocent souls so young served to remind the old man of the tribulations of the last Blood War with Voldemort. One ended by a prophecy- or rather, one man's undeniable obsession with one. With Neville and Harry both beyond the Veil- and no telling when or if they would return- there was no such thing as the prophecy anymore. His back straightened, and Albus Dumbledore, Leader of the Light, wiped his runny nose and pink and yellow spotted handkerchief. Harry would be happy wherever the Gateway took him. You see, he Veil of Death was no such thing. An ancient transportation device, left behind by an ancient civilisation. Like all intensely magical devices left alone for millennia, it gained a sense of humour. The Seven would find happiness in this new world, but boy, would they have to work for it! The old man pulled himself together, and wandered over to his rather large collection of duelling tomes and grimoires. If he was going to sort out his mess, he'd need to brush up on his duelling. Maybe Minerva, Severus and Filius would aid him in his endeavours…

The thing is, at that moment, Magic herself gave a little chuckle. Harry's ability, and to a lesser extent, Neville's too, to inspire was what would win the coming Second Blood War for the Light, and bring an end to the comings of Dark Lords for centuries to their old world. That chuckle would have even further-reaching comments than her already light-hearted meddlings…

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

 **A/N:** OK so, this second chapter is again, as ever, unbetaed, written at like 4am, after a long shift and a stressful week of hospital visits. Luckily, no more hospital visits for the foreseeable future :) Not much happening, but soon build-up will end and the fun can begin... hehehehHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: No owny, no makey money, no happy

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

One would think that after leaping through something dubbed 'the Veil of Death', you would be dead. Whether through Harry Potter's bizarre form of luck, or some other inconceivable feat of fate, Harry awoke to the sound of his own heartbeat. The sounds of wind whistling through trees rang in the distance, the groaning of boughs rubbing against one another, and the _flumpf!_ of snow falling to the ground in great drifts. The young man opened his eyes only to be blinded by the stunningly white snow covering all around him. Trying again, Harry sat up and at once noticed something was wrong- not only was he alive, but seven others were arrayed around him like a seven-pointed star. His arms were covered in black metal, similar to the armour in Hogwarts and yet so different. His hands were similarly attired, with leather gloves covered in plates of blackest metal. Around him, the other seven were also attired in such armour, of varying colours.

 _'Where am I? How did I get here? How am I still alive, and where is Sirius?!'_ Harry thought, as the events of his previous waking hour came back to him. The run through the Ministry, the battle in the Death Chamber, and Sirius falling. Logically, he knew Sirius was no longer with them- the curse that Bellatrix Lestrange caught him with left no mark, no way out, and no survivors except one…

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed the others begin to wake. Drawing his wand from his belt, he cast around looking for some cover from whoever these people were. Seeing none, he shouted, "Who are you? What did you do to me? Where is everyone?"

The others, from what he could tell (for he could not see their faces, hidden as they were behind fearsome helms) where as shocked as he was. Frightened, Harry began to cast a stunner at the nearest figure, donned in red armour, until he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Whoa mate, it's me, Ron!" The figure wore a suit of huge brown armour, with inlaid figures of mountains across his chest. On his back sat a huge shield, a head shorter than the man. This couldn't be Ron, Ron was only just bordering six feet tall! This mountain of a man was easily seven, and as broad as many a tree in the Forbidden Forest! Next to him, on its head, stood a spiked warhammer, its pommel in the shape of a mountain, and its head made of a strange brown metal. But it was his voice- deeper, yes, but nobody spoke like Ron did.

"Ron? What the hell happened to you?! You're like a giant! You're as tall as Hagrid!" Harry looked around, noting the others properly for the first time as they each took off their helms and in the case of the girls, waved out their hair.

Ginny stood, her dark red hair blending in with her blood-coloured armour. Again, she was nearly a foot taller than she had been when he last saw her. Scenes of war were inlaid across her breastplate, and thrust into the ground behind her were two weapons that looked like small axes- waraxes. Both were the same blood red as her armour. Her beauty seemed to have increased exponentially with age. A smirk flitted across her freckled face as she saw him studying her.

Hermione stood next to her, in armour like lapis lazuli. From her shoulders and breastplate hung strips of parchment with miniscule writing sealed with golden wax. Planted in the snow next to her was a spear tipped with a pearlescent-blue blade as long as her forearm. She already seemed to be reading whatever she could of what was sealed to her armour.

On the other side of Ginny stood Luna. Gone was her dreamy, out-of-body daze. Now, she radiated pure serenity, her silver and white armour etched with moons and unknown constellations. Slung from her hip was a weird sword the colour of the full moon, straight near the hilt and curved at the end like a new moon. The handle looked like the horn of a unicorn. Her left bracer was wider than the others', like a buckler.

Beside her, Neville stood tall and proud, his previous anxiety blown away almost as if by the arctic wind. In golden armour lit from within, scenes of selfless heroism were etched in black and red. On his hip was a golden longsword, almost the brother of the Sword of Gryffindor. Neville smiled at Harry, and the green-eyed man knew that no matter what happened, Neville would have his back- no, they all would have each other's!

Last, but not least, between Ron and Neville stood the twins. A sense of unrestrained glee and mischief hung around them like the warm smell of summer. The two were adorned in identical sets of green and yellow light armour, with brown leather between the plates. Leaf-green daggers at their hips, and knives in bandoliers across their chests, the twins had strung bows slung over their backs etched with green and yellow snakes. Their helms, unlike the others, bore two horns that curved back on themselves.

Harry took stock of his own strange armour- across his chest was emblazoned a sword etched in golden filigree, that seemed to be warding off dark shambling figures of coldest, brightest blue. Next to him in the snow stood a pair of large, two-handed swords; one was black as night with specks akin to stars along its centre. The other was white as snow, with five strange symbols etched in red along the centre. As he took off his helm, he saw that all his armour was darkest black, and his barbute helm had a visor with a seven-pointed star worked in to allow his voice to escape the confines. The others gasped as he did so. "What?" Harry asked.

"H-Harry, you're hair! It's turned white!" Hermione stuttered. Quickly running his hands through his now-long hair, Harry noticed that it had indeed turned an odd silver-white. _Not overly concerning, given the circumstances_ , he thought. Ron and Neville both had longer hair than he previously thought, but was tied back with a leather thong.

"What happened guys? How did we get here? Where _is_ here?" Harry eyed Hermione as he said this, trusting that as usual she had the answers he needed.

"We all followed you through the Veil, Harry. We couldn't just let you run off without any help! I have no idea how Fred and George turned up, though, they weren't in the Chamber when we ran after you. Somewhere in the North, I'd say, judging by the snow." Hermione stated matter-of-factly. Harry turned to the twins.

"So how _did_ you guys end up here?"

"We were at Headquarters when Dumbledore received Snape's message that Padfoot was a hostage in the Department of Mysteries. Obviously, Sirius was there too, but he was upstairs at the time feeding Buckbeak. So we dropped what we were doing and went after you. We may have had a _little_ bit of trouble in one of the adjoining rooms which why were late…" Fred- no, George- said as he looked more than a little shifty.

"What did you guys do?" Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to know, honestly.

"We may have decided to appropriate a couple of books from the Department on our way to you… nothing important, and they were all dusty so it's not like they were even used all that much…" The twins had the good grace to look abashed at their petty thievery, but Harry knew better. Before he could say any more, however, Luna chimed in.

"Harry, you asked where we are; well, maybe this will help." The slight girl stood off at the edge of the clearing, studying one of the large white trees with red leaves that bordered it. Only now on close inspection did the group realise that carved into each tree was a face, akin to that of a House Elf's, yet craggier, and more beautiful and terrifying.

Clenched in the teeth of this particular tree's face was a scroll of parchment with a small title just visible. Quite simply, it read "The Knights Seven".

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

Before reading the scroll as Hermione was desperate to do, Ginny suggested building shelter to keep warm and out of the snow. Quickly, given their magic (Hermione protested here, but if ever there was a need for it, the ban only applied outside of life-or-death scenarios), the small group conjured up some rock walls and a tarp to cover them, with Hermione supplying her well-known bluebell flames in the centre.

With the small space warming up quickly, there was no need to tarry any longer. Luna cracked the outer shell of the scroll open, and eased out the ancient parchment. Written in English so old it was barely recognisable, Hermione was forced to use a translation charm for them to read it.

"My name is Merlin. I am a Mage and advisor in King Arthur's court of Camelot. I have seen the future of this world, and I know that by now, by your very actions of leaving it behind, you have saved it from the Dark Lord. You have been given a chance, here, to continue ensuring the prevalence of the Light, on another world. Yes, another world. This is not the planet the people will come to know as Earth, but a planet with no name, yet. You currently sit in Westeros, in its most northern reaches known as Beyond the Wall. The Wall is a man-made construct of ice and magic raised over eight thousand years ago to fend off an invasion of the undead- known here as 'white walkers', or 'wights'. I will not lie to you. The Land Beyond the Wall is dangerous. South of it only slightly less so. This world has progressed no further than feudal Lords and Houses, bows and swords, magic and stone. I have crafted you gifts to ensure your survival in this land, gifts you already wear. Given your task, and the dangers therein you will remember years upon years of training, when barely hours ago you were in wonderful Hogwarts. You eight are my legacy, left to this wonderful land. The Knights Seven. Yes, there are eight of you, but really, twins count as one, I think. On this planet, there was a cataclysm four hundred years ago that rendered an island known as Valyria a wasteland of fire and death. Only two things survived this Doom- Valyrian steel, and a House of Dragonlords called the Targaryens. Three hundred years ago, Aegon Targaryan invaded the land known as Westeros and submitted it to his rule. Twenty years ago, there was a rebellion lead by the current King, Robert Baratheon against the Mad King Aerys II. After three hundred years of incest, the line of the Targaryens was weak. Whilst King Bartheon's kingdom is weak and poor from his debauchery, it is better than ever before- and will grow into a shining gem during your quest.

Your names are foreign to this land, and will do you no good. For now, I dub thee thus:

Harry Potter, I dub thee Lord Galahad of the Hunt, Aspect of Chivalry.

Ginevra Weasley, I dub thee Lady Guinevere of the Lake, Aspect of Ferocity.

Ronald Weasley, I dub thee Lord Gawain of the Mountain, Aspect of Loyalty.

Neville Longbottom, I dub thee Lord Lancelot of the Forest, Aspect of Honour.

Luna Lovegood, I dub thee Lady Selene of the Moon, Aspect of Serenity.

Frederick and George Weasley, I dub thee the Lords Perceval of the Night, Aspects of Mischief.

Hermione Granger, I dub thee Lady Igraine of the Sky, Aspect of Wisdom.

Your titles and bearing in this land will mean much to those who matter. Head first for Winterfell south of here past the Wall, where you will meet with your King and Lord. Along your path will be grimoires of knowledge from your land, from my time and yours to aid you. Be careful, my chosen, for Winter is Coming, and with it, the Long Night."

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

The eight of them sat back in shock at Merlin's- _Merlin's_ \- letter. Another world, so different from their own! They knew that this letter was the truth- they could all feel the years of training their bodies had gone through to be able to wear their armour so easily, and use their weapons so well.

"Why do you think 'Winter is Coming' and 'Long Night' are capitalised?" Asked Hermione. Of course she could tell something was up there.

"I don't know." Said Neville, fully aware that they would find out soon enough.

Luna looked to the South, knowing that with the Sun rising where it did, to her left, she was facing the right way. "Myrddin mentioned that we need to get past that Wall and to a place called Winterfell. If we set off now, we should reach it by sundown." As she spoke, she pointed out the line of white and blue that stood above the treetops to the South. With everyone in agreement, they banished their shelter, and made for the Wall.

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

 **A/N:** Sorry about the last chapter's formatting problems. They occur a lot on FFdotNet for some reason for me, and I have no clue why. I've given up indenting my new paragraphs in the hope this helps. If you're interested, Harry's swords are based on Geralt of Rivia's from the Witcher 3, Ginny's waraxes by the orcish ones of Skyrim, and Harry's helm by the Warden in For Honor. I know this is still a lot of setting-up and describing going on, but I have this hugely detailed picture in my head of what they all look like and I NEED IT to be just right. On another note, I'm shit at speech, so bear with me until I get it right, please. I have a basic plan for the workings of the plot, pairings and some such. Who dies and who lives will be fun- all I will say is the Seven will not die. Maybe.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: No owny, no makey money, no happy.

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

 **Castle Black:**

Castle Black sat in the shadow of the Wall as it had for eight thousand years. Tiny black ants ran to and fro in the central courtyard, going about their daily tasks. The Lord Commander sat with his First Builder Othell Yarwyck, Lord Steward Bowen Marsh, and First Ranger Benjen Stark discussing the recent desertion by Will.

"He was a loyal and good ranger, my Lord. I knew him well, he would not leave his post lightly. Before he ran, all he could say was 'the Others are coming. Seven forgive me, the Others are coming.'" Benjen Stark sat forward in his chair, hands out pleading for the Lord Commander to understand. "Let me go forth and find where Gared and Ser Royce where killed. Let me discover the veracity of his tale and-"

"Surely you can't believe his tall tales, Benjen, the lad was brought up on those ghost tales of the White Walkers, like all low-born scum. He murdered Ser Royce, and that other ranger, plain and simple!" Bowen Marsh interrupted.

"There are things beyond that wall that would curl your toes and turn your hair whiter than snow, Marsh! Things move between the trees of the Haunted Forest, make no sound and leave no print to follow. And yet we see them from the corner of our eyes. The Wildlings dare not tread there lightly, and bless Will, but he was no great swordsman. Not within seven leagues of Lord Royce!" Benjen turned once more to the Lord Commander. "My Lord, please, I will ride forth on my own, and be back within the day with news. I have a feeling that all is not well beyond the Wall, and not the usual wildlings scampering about."

Lord Mormont sat back in his high-backed chair, hand on beard. On the one hand, he trusted Marsh to be the voice of reason. On the other, he, too, was of the North like Benjen. He grew up with the old tales of the Long Night, the Others, and the building of the Wall. He could feel in his bones that there was _something_ amiss.

"Very well, First Ranger. You have two days- we don't need more horses dying on us, I dare say. If you leave now, you have most of the day before you." Lord Jeor Mormont smiled briefly, knowing his First Steward would be in a mood for weeks over this. But really, the man needed some perspective. And a history lesson or two.

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

 **Beyond the Wall**

Luna- or Lady Selene, as the group told themselves they should grow used to calling her- led the way towards the Wall in single file. The forest surrounding them was utterly different to the circle of white trees with red leaves they had awoken to. Close together, with low-hanging branches intent on snagging on the smallest purchase, the trees seemed to hide something that could only be seen from the corner of one's eye. White shapes flitted around them, with no sound being given. Hermione- Lady Igraine- tried to use a spell to see them, the _homenum revelio_ , with no luck. Either these apparitions weren't human (or human-like), or they were drifts of silent snow falling from above.

As they trudged on, the group conferred on their situation, and what to do about it. They each accustomed themselves to their weapons and moving at speed in their armour- subconscious training is one thing, but active use was quite another. They each agreed that they would keep their eyes out for the Grimoires that Merlin spoke of, each feeling that even with the past few months of Dumbledore's Army, they were woefully unprepared in terms of their magical education to survive in what may be a brutal world. They eventually left the trees behind, and the unsettling feeling left them for a time. Crossing a large clearing in the forest, they all took another look at the Wall, and noticed it was no closer than before.

"Um, guys, we've been walking all day and its nowhere near to getting any bigger. Is this a trick?" Ron asked. Luna laughed, the sound tinkling among the snow.

"No, Ron- uhm, Lord Gawain…- no trick. Only that Wall is over seven hundred feet high, and with all this snow, we aren't making the best time. I think we'd better start melting the snow, otherwise we'll be stuck out here all night, too." Luna giggled slightly at the name. It was like those games she used to play when she was younger.

With that, Ginny- Lady Guinevere- took out her wand and flicked it at the snow in their path. Even with such a small flick, and no incantation, a huge gout of flames spewed forth from her wand, melting all of the snow between them and the trees with ease. The others looked at her, while she stared at her wand.

"I didn't put that much into it! What the hell? Harry, you try something," she said.

In his black armour, he stood out vividly against the snow. Taking his wand from his belt, he carefully swished and flicked his wand at a nearby fallen tree, only to see it careen off into the sky, and then shoot off into the distance away from the wall, and out of sight.

The eight of them stood there, gaping at the rapidly diminishing log.

"OK guys, I think we should just do this the hard way. No spells on anyone or anything until we've figured out what's on with our magic. Direct effect only, nothing widespread like blasting curses." They all flinched slightly, imagining a crater the size of Hogwarts in the ground.

"Yeah, that's…" Said Fred.

"A good idea, my Lord Galahad, sir." Said George. The others rolled their eyes at their usual byplay. Some things never changed.

As they trudged on, the clouds above lifted and they finally got a better look at the Wall. Stretching up so high they had to crane their heads back, they finally understood exactly how tall the magnificent structure was. As they stood in a line, marvelling at the Wall, they heard a whinny from the woods ahead.

In an instant, the Seven stood ready. Ron in the centre of the line, ready to break a charge. Hermione directly behind him, spear outstretched to defend him. Luna on his left, arakh raised. Ginny on his right, waraxes out and a grin on her face. On the end of the line on either side where Harry and Neville, guarding against any flanking attacks. And behind them all, stood Fred and George bows raised and arrows nocked, focused on the horse slowly making its way out of the trees.

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

As the First Ranger made his way through the first parts of the Haunted Forest, he thought he heard a huge crackle of fire from up ahead. Not long after that, the better part of a tree trunk recently fallen soared up into the sky as if thrown by a giant. If there were indeed giants this close to the Wall, then he would need to know for certain their numbers. It had been a good few years since the last Great Ranging, and he didn't fancy fighting giants any better than the Others, truth be told. Marsh could grumble all he liked, but Old Nan had been around to nurse his father, his siblings, and now his nephews and nieces. He believed her stories of giants, wildling kings and the Long Night. And by the Old Gods, he knew the last few winters had been longer than those before them.

Spurring his horse on, he weaved the steed through the tightest of branches with ease born of long experience. Upon emerging out into the first clearing in the Forest, he saw a line of five knights adorned in the most beautiful and intimidating armour he had ever seen- and he'd been to The Great Tourney at Harrenhal. Before he could ride further forward than the tree line, two arrows sprouted from the trees on either side of him. Reigning in, he spied a spear behind an outlandishly-huge shield in the centre, and two bow-wielding men of identical height in forest-green and yellow light armour.

Taking his hands off the reigns, he raised his hands to show he was unarmed and kneed his steed forwards once more.

"Ho there! How do you come to be here? Are you from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea or The Shadow Tower, friends?" Benjen, quite simply, was confused. No wildling had armour like this, and there wasn't a giant in sight- so where had that log came from? As his horse wandered nearer, none of the armour individuals before him wavered. Stopping just three yards short of their line, he dismounted, and looked to the man behind the huge shield.

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

Moving the line around the dark-haired stranger, Harry and Neville closed up behind him from either side, Ginny on one side, and Luna on the other. Hermione circled around to stand behind Harry and Neville. Fred and George covered the movements of the others, waiting for a suspicious movement.

Finally, from behind the stranger, Harry spoke up.

"Who are you, stranger?"

The man turned slowly to his right to address the speaker. He had paid the most attention to who he had assumed was the leader, the huge man now behind him.

"My name is Benjen Stark, First Ranger of Castle Black, a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. Brother to Lord Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North." The man had a northern accent typical of a native English speaker, but also the gravelly tone of someone who held their silence.

"My name is Lord Galahad of the Hunt. These are Lords Lancelot of the Forest and Gawain of the Mountain, and Ladies Guinevere of the Lake, Selene of the Moon, and Igraine of the Sky. The two men in green are the Lords Perceval of the Night." As Harry named them, he gestured to them.

"Why, I have never heard of any of you, and I was educated to know every noble house in Westeros, dead and alive!"

"We are not from these lands, First Ranger. We were sent here by forces beyond our reckoning, to meet our King and Lord; for Winter is Coming, and with it, the Long Night." Harry really had no clue what to say, but when in doubt, quote Merlin. For a long while, the man was silent; he knew those words, and lived by them. The Starks were ever-watchful and the first to know of winter's coming, he more than most. "Your King and Lord, you say? Then my brother it is you should meet, but first, I have a ranging to finish."

 ** _VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII_**

 **A/N:** So it's been a few days, and I'd like to thank Sceonn especially for pointing out in a roundabout way that I'd missed out naming Fred and George. That has now been fixed. Chase Manaena seems a bit excited for more chapters, but its one a day, max. Thanks to Lor'ella Lovegood, your English is great, well done, better than some writers on here ;)

In other news, we will soon reach where the books began. I'm not entirely sure if I'll be going show-centric or book-centric. It's easier for me to revise the goings-on by re-watching GoT, especially as I haven't seen the new series yet and need to anyway. Good night and good luck.


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: No owny, no makey money, no happy.

 _ **VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII**_

 **Beyond the Wall:**

Call him trusting, but Harry felt that this Benjen Stark was telling the truth. He offered to join the man on his ranging, along with the Seven, with the promise in return for aid getting through the Wall and to Winterfell. Benjen explained that he was out beyond the Wall looking for where Will had left Gared and Ser Royce's bodies near the wildling camp. As they trekked the miles to the small camp, the First Ranger explained the workings of the Night's Watch, and the basic geography and politics of Westeros. As it turned out, the Long Night was an ancient legend of a never-ending winter (for some reason their summers and winters did not have the same rough timetabling as their Earth's) that allowed the White Walkers to storm across Westeros once more. The White Walkers were rumoured to be able to revive the dead into wights, a truly terrifying concept. This world was apparently in danger of an ice-zombie apocalypse.

It took the rest of the day to make their way to a small bluff that hid the camp behind a dense copse of pine trees in a dry riverbed. Benjen drew up short.

"There should be bodies strewn all around here. Will said that they were all dead before he got here. Neither Ser Royce nor Gared are here either. Either Will just ran off- which is the most unlikely of situations- or someone's moved the bodies, which is worrying. Or…" Benjen looked worried for a second, as if he was seriously considering the bodies moved themselves. For the last few miles, there had been no sound from birds, wolves or wind alike. Ron, Harry and Hermione all recognised the lack of sound as the presence of a predator too dangerous to stay around from their dealings with Grawp in the last year.

Before Benjen could do more than dismount to check for tracks, white blurs emerged from the trees on either side of the group. Immediately, the First Ranger roared, "It's Ser Royce and Gared! The Others have them now!" before whirling his sword from its scabbard on his horse's flank and blocking a stroke from the man in heavy armour and a ripped cloak. The other wight bore a longsword typical of the late medieval era but little in the way of armour, and seemed to be missing its head. Before it could take more than a step towards the Ranger's back, two arrows sprouted from its chest and a spear was thrust through its back. The frozen cadaver began to smoke and fall apart before their eyes.

The first wight, what must have been Ser Royce, fought with the strength of ten men, battering aside Benjen's blade with no finesse, and made for a killing blow. Benjen, however, used the sword's momentum to swing about and take off the man's head. Ser Royce, however, didn't seem to care that much, and took a swing at his opponent. Before the blade took off his arm at the elbow, Luna's curved blade caught it, and twisted it from the wight's grip.

"Wait! We need to take him back, or people will never believe us! Help me tie him up!" Benjen started unravelling some rope from his saddle, before he saw the figure in blue, Lady Igraine, point a small stick at the struggling headless man being held by Lord Gawain and Lord Lancelot. A brief flash of light later, and the struggling corpse froze rigid, hands and legs straight as if strapped to a post. Neville flinched away slightly from the falling man.

"What was that? Was that… magic?!" The ranger looked startled.

"Yes, we use magic. It makes some things easier. I hope that this isn't an issue, my lord?" Hermione asked him.

"Magic hasn't been seen in these lands for over a hundred and fifty years! It died off with the dragons!" The mere thought that magic was real- or at least returning- was absurd. But the evidence was right before his eyes. "If anyone in Castle Black knows how you restrained Ser Royce, they will not believe that the White Walkers are back. They will think that you created him. Once we get within sight of the Wall, we will need to change over to rope. Give me his head, I have a sack. And I would appreciate honesty, my fellows. Such things could lead to much trouble."

The Seven sat back and cursed. They should have realised that magic wasn't common here- in what appeared to be an analogue to medieval England, many would be superstitious or hateful towards magic. They didn't need eight stakes set up at the next village.

The First Ranger walked over to the now-steaming puddle that used to be one of his best men. "Now, tell me. By the Old Gods, how did you kill Gared for good?"

"Well, we shot him, and Lady Igraine here stabbed him. Not much else to tell, really. Except he was missing his head to begin with." Fred and George chimed in. Stark pulled one of the arrows out of the puddle and inspected it.  
"This is Valyrian steel! How in the blazes did you get arrows made of Valyrian steel? Hand me your spear!" Turning to Hermione, he held his hand out expectantly. Slowly, as if parting with an ancient tome, she slowly handed him her spear. Turning it over in his hand, he watched the light play out over the blade. Deep within, small blue waves seemed to peak and trough, like the rough ocean of the Shivering Sea.

"Are all of your armaments of the same metal?" He said, peering closely at their armour. Yes, there it was, the same deep colours that at first looked like lacquer to him, he now saw as the magnificent, magical colours of Valyrian steel. There was more of the rare metal in front of him than in the rest of Westeros, perhaps Essos as well. "This bears great thought. This metal is rarer than the largest of diamonds, and worth a hundred times more. It is forged with magic and dragonfire, no wonder it can slay the undead. Come, we must bring news to the Lord Commander."

Without even waiting for their agreement, the troubled First Ranger mounted his horse and began to retrace his tracks to the Wall.

 _ **VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII**_

As they walked back towards Castle Black, Hermione strode easily beside Benjen, mounted as he was.

"I believe that some explanation might be needed, my lord. My friends and I did not arrive in this land by choice. In our world, we were students at a school for magic that catered to only those with the talent. This formed a hidden society that was necessary due to witch hunts several hundred years ago. For some reason our magic is ridiculously powerful here, and we had decided not to use it in general until we had figured this out. You, uh, probably saw the log and heard the fire, seeing as you appeared so shortly afterwards. Will magic be a problem here, if we use it openly?" Hermione asked.

"Magic will not cause you to be burned, not really. Many woodswitches live in towns, providing potions and poultices to the sick. The Red Priests, are, of course, rumoured to use magic, but they call them gifts from their god R'hllor, the Lord of Light. It is merely… unbecoming of knights such as yourselves to use such tools when a sword will do. You could not enter tourneys if you were known to be such, as cheating would be claimed whether you had or not. Best to hide it, or use it sparingly if you can. We in the North especially put great stock in working hard for what you get, and magic would stop this." Stark said.

"Very well, we shall be careful with our use, more than we would previously. On a related matter, we would rather our secrets remain our own. Is there any way to parley directly with your Lord Commander without bandying about with anyone else?"

Benjen laughed. "The Lord Commander will want to see you immediately, no doubt. Nobody has ever wanted or needed to go beyond the Wall that wasn't in the Night's Watch. He will be interested in meeting you, and all within the Castle will be watching you. Unless your magic has a way of hiding you from sight, then I fear you will be the talk of the North within days!"

Fred and George perked up at this. "We know a spell that can do that! Well, two spells. A silencing charm, and a disillusionment charm; maybe a scent-masking charm if you want to get clever will hide us from everyone. But we can't open doors without people wondering what's going on. We'll need help…"

 _ **VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII**_

 **Castle Black:**

Lord Commander Mormont looked up as he heard the short blast on the horn from atop the wall. The First Ranger was returning. Standing slowly, he made his way out onto the raised walkway and down to the gate. As the gate was lifted, the men standing in the courtyard all murmured at the sight of the First Ranger dragging the corpse of what could only be Ser Royce by a rope underneath his arms- and his head was missing! The man kicked and bucked and tried in vain to fight his way free, but the ropes were so tight as to gnaw at his icy flesh.

"Stay back, brothers! This is not Ser Waymar! He is taken by some icy contagion the likes of which I have not seen before! Here I have his head, which still tries to bite my fingers with every move!" At this, he withdrew the severed head, which did indeed try its very best to snap at the offending digits. "My Lord Commander, I must speak with you alone, at once. We men of the North have much to talk about."

"Aye, that we do, First Ranger. Take Ser Royce to the brig and we'll see to him soon." Benjen could see the footsteps in the muddy courtyard that led up the stairs to the Lord Commander's quarters. He'd have to let them in after the stewards had been dismissed, or their arrival would reach the Spider within days.

 _ **VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII**_

 **A/N:** So. Another chapter, and only a scarce few steps further on their journey. I'm still getting to grips with including titles and suchlike, especially with Benjen as his only title is First Ranger. If anyone knows anything about this, please share. Also, go watch Swords, Musket & Machine guns on BBC iPlayer, it teaches a lot about medieval weaponry (1st episode). Ciao!


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: No owny, no makey money, no happy.

 _ **VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII**_

 **Castle Black:**

As the stewards withdrew after bringing a small tureen of soup and some water, the doorway made a most unpleasant _squelch!_ Before the eyes of the Lord Commander, eight people adorned in pristine armour melted into view.

"What is going on Stark? Who are these people in my chambers!" The Old Bear's hand rested on the stone bear's head hilt of his sword.

"My Lord, these are the Knights Seven. I came across them in the large clearing just to the south of the heart trees. They may have saved my life, and allowed me to make sense of the missing rangers. Ser Royce has been taken by the Others." Mormont would normally take this in jest, had he not seen the headless Ser Royce and grew up on the old tales. Still, he was filled with distaste for their stealing into his chambers unannounced.

"The Others, you say? We have seen neither hide nor hair of them since the Wall was raised, Benjen. There are dark times ahead if what you say is true." The Lord Commander took his hand from his sword, and stroked his thick beard. "What say you, strangers? What do you know of these happenings?"

He looked to Ron, assuming he was the leader of this band, but it was Harry that came forward.

"My Lord, we knew nothing of this land or these Others until yesterday, when we arrived here. All we received was a note telling us 'Winter is Coming, and with it, the Long Night'. Until we met the First Ranger, we didn't even understand that. You see, we are not from this world. We're from Earth. Where we come from, magic is still alive, and the age of swords and armour is long gone. I came here to look for my godfather, and my friends followed me. On arrival, he was nowhere to be found, and all we knew was to head for the Wall, and Winterfell."

Jeor Mormont, for a second, was lost for words. The very idea that people from another world- an alien concept of itself- had travelled here was absurd! And yet, they were adorned in the finest armour he had ever seen. Outlandish weapons like the small girl's (a woman, in armour, by the Gods, she reminded him of his sister!), that ungodly shield held by the man who rivalled the Mountain in height, and the shear atmosphere of solemnity that surrounded the eight before him made him pause.

"A note, you say? May I see it?"

Hermione was torn. On the one hand, this was direct correspondence from a man, a legendary figure a thousand years in the past, to them! And besides that, it mentioned their true names! On the other, this man was obviously respected, and headed the order that kept the coming apocalypse at bay, for now. Capitulating, she removed the scroll from her belt, and passed it to him. After a minute's reading, he set it down.

"Benjen, take them to Aemon. And gather the men. It's time we started to train those bastards to _really_ fight."

 _ **VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII**_

After a few brief mouthfuls of soup each, and water to quench their thirst, the group hid themselves again, and followed their companion out to the courtyard. Under his breath, he whispered, "The tower on the opposite side of the courtyard, with the slate tiling is the Maester's quarters. Once I have called the men, he will be alone. You'll have maybe half an hour to talk, but then his steward will return. Make sure you're gone by then or make sure he doesn't know you're there."

With that, he clanged the bell above the gate to call the men of the Night's Watch to him.

As the black-clad men arrived in dribs and drabs, it became clear that barely a hundred of them called the redoubt 'home'. Making their way slowly to the specified tower, following the footprints of those in front, they waited with bated breath as the steward left the tower and joined the men. Hurrying inside, they barged through the door and closed it just as swiftly.

"Maester Aemon? Hello?" Hermione called out. In the far corner, next to a small fire, sat a shrivelled, bald and shrunken old man with greyed-over eyes.

"Yes, my dear? What brings such a beautiful voice to this cold and draughty castle? And your companions, too, for that matter." He smiled slightly, as he gazed unseeingly into the fire.

"My friends and I were sent here by the Lord Commander. The First Ranger is distracting everyone whilst we talk with you. I'm afraid we don't know why, only after he read this scroll, he sent us here." The old man shifted slightly, and chuckled dryly.

"Well, why don't you read it to me, and we shall see what is so important."

After reading the scroll aloud, the Maester seemed to gain some vigour to him, as he stood as swiftly as his old bones could allow, and shuffled off into the library surrounding them. Hermione followed, as the others grouped around the small fire.

"At the founding of the Night's Watch, Bran the Builder raised the Wall to hold back the tides of White Walkers and their wights from the kingdoms in the South. With a feat of magic unseen before or since, he made a seven-hundred-foot-tall, three-hundred- _leagues_ -long wall that split this land. You will see no blocks of ice, no means of construction. It is so thick, you could bombard it for days and achieve only snow. Only the Maester of the Night's Watch is privy to information beyond that. Brandon, or Bran as he was known, was not from this land, nor any other we had ever heard of. He was from a land known as Cymry, and later, Albion. He came here by leaping through a gateway that by all rights, should have killed him. He went on to sire the line of Stark, who took control of the North, and are now Wardens of the North. Not many know of this, and it would do well to stay that way, hm?" The old man pulled a book from a shelf in a corner in almost complete darkness, and handed it to Hermione. She nodded, and then blushed.

"Yes of course, I understand."

"Good, good. Now, that book was left by Merlin to only be read by his chosen knights. It apparently contains long-lost knowledge the likes of which this world has never seen. This ring here," He pointed to a small, almost wire-like link in his chain necklace, "means that I studied magic in the Citadel. I know most of what Westeros has to offer in the ways of magic, but I can tell, just by holding this book, that I am but a spark to the roaring inferno. Magic will soon race across these lands once more, for good or evil. I can only hope the Others do not follow. You said that you look to Winterfell next. Ask to visit Bran the Builder's tomb, there will be something waiting for you there. Now, we must head back to the fire, as these old bones grow colder by the day in this incessant cold."

Moving aside, Hermione followed the old man back to his seat, and helped to wrap him back up as he was before. Taking a small jar from the mantelpiece above the fire, she vanished the wax inside and instead conjured a small bluebell flame.

"Here. This will stay burning for a long time, Maester Aemon. Just keep it hidden, as it is bright blue. Keep it in your robes, and I hope you stay well. I will come back, soon I hope, to read through your wonderful library. Now, we really have to go, I'm sure our half-hour is nearly up." Patting his wrinkled hand, and kissing him upon his head, she stood to leave.

"Before you leave, my dear… I think that someone in the Seven Kingdoms should know. My name is Aemon Targaryen. I'm nearly a hundred and one. And above all else, I wish I could see the sunrise over Dragonstone one last time." With those words, the Maester nodded off, mumbling to himself as he dreamt.

 _ **VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII**_

Back in the Lord Commander's chambers, the Seven, Mormont and Stark were relayed the information that Hermione had learned. It was decided that they should set off for Winterfell as soon as possible. The Lord Commander had one thing to ask, however.

"My Lords and Ladies, although your journey is important, I must ask for two favours."

Harry nodded.

"First, when you head south, I implore you to call as many as you can to take the black. We are in sore need of more recruits, and supplies as this winter bears down upon us."

"Of course, Lord Mormont. We understand the importance of defending the Wall, as do your men now, I take it?" Harry said. The Old Bear nodded.

"And second, before you leave, I ask that if you can, you use your magic to fortify the defences here, both of the Wall and Castle Black herself."

At that, they were surprised. Such a hardened warrior asking for blatant magic was, to say the least, assumedly unusual.

"I take it the resources needed would not be available to you, Lord Mormont?"

"No."

"Then under cover of darkness, we will see what we can do. For now, we need to find a way to take Ser Royce south with us to present the problem of the Others to the Seven Kingdoms, and take stock of any provisions you may be able to give us to see us through to Winterfell."

 _ **VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII**_

That night, after darkness had fallen and the only men of the Night's Watch about were atop the Wall, the Seven stood arrayed around the redoubt. Each knew their role, and waited for the signal from Harry. Hearing a high whistle on the wind, they raised their wands. Transfiguring mud to stone was difficult, but not impossible. And what they intended to do was beyond the pale. Raising great stone fortifications from the ground, whilst shaping them to look like old stone was a draining process on Earth, but here, the stone burst into being faster than they thought. High square towers on either side of the road leading in, and walls slightly inclined to allow easy defence rose up from the mud. Hermione, as the resident Transfiguration scholar, guided the design. The wooden buildings inside the fortifications slowly petrified and turned to stone, with great heated gaps in the walls being formed. Once the stonework was finished, the Seven turned their attention to the Wall. Smoothing out the face, they transformed it into a uniformly sapphire-blue edifice that reeked of power. For a league in either direction, the Wall became unassailable, its face so smooth the brothers of the Watch saw their reflections, some for the first time. Wearying, the Seven turned their last attentions to the charming of the stonework to resist the cold weather of the North, and assault of many kinds.

"That's it, guys. Any more and we may as well sleep where we stand!"

The group lowered their wands, each drained by the impressive work. They couldn't truly see their handiwork in the darkness, but the Lord Commander would surely approve. Gathering their supplies given to them, and the still-writhing body of Ser Royce, they turned their faces to the South, and began to walk. It was a long journey, nearing two hundred and ten leagues. Twelve days of hard marching along a less-than-well-used road that was more of a dirt track. Should be fun.

 _ **VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII ~ VII**_

 **A/N:** Holy cow. So, I just did the maths for walking to Winterfell and it's like 630 miles. My feet hurt after walking 10. Shame horses are hard to come by and cost like a bajillion in cash. From Winterfell to King's Landing, Nikolas Marinakis worked it out to be like 1,500 miles, " _as the three-eyed crow flies_ ". No wonder Joffrey was a cunt. He was in that stupid idea of a carriage the size of a house for like 30 hours. I'd be a cunt after like 3. Anyhoo, I give thee the 5th chapter in this, my soon-to-be-corrected-and-spell-checked masterpiece of average quality. Sayonara, baby!


End file.
